


Versus Pirates

by VeronicaRich



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Pirates vs Ninjas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 07:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: What is a pirate’s most natural enemy? Why – ninjas, of course. Be forewarned: Absolutely no effort at historical accuracy.





	Versus Pirates

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Metalkatt for read-through and beta. Written eight years ago for LJ, originally.

“That tears it.” Without drama, without a raised voice, Will Turner shook his head and settled his baldric into place at his hip. “You're not going to have me to kick around today, in this foul mood of yours.”

“Well and good,” Jack Sparrow muttered. “Find your own oranges and limes, then.”

“Can't be that difficult, considering how you 'procure' them,” Will calmly rebutted, pausing halfway out the cabin door. “Any flash of coin ought to be a balm to these merchants after dealing with you long enough.”

He was halfway out on deck when he heard the grinding of the door being yanked open and the gravelly snarl floated up to his back: “Go procure yourself!”

_Typical_ , Will thought, as he shimmied down into the longboat with a few other crewmen. Halfway to the dock, the thought was replaced with a running inner monologue of _Jack-ass_. A few steps off the dock toward the port town, and the steam began working up out of Will's collar. _Ungrateful Judas_ , he seethed. _How soon we forget just exactly how he got that ship back!_ By the time he'd made it to the edge of the tightly-packed ramshackle buildings that denoted tavern after pub after tavern, he was actively muttering, “Bastard,” in an intermittent repetition under his breath.

He knew where the blacksmith shop was from previous sojourns, so he was able to cut through a few alleys and under a couple of clotheslines to avoid the crowds. A carriage was bottlenecking the front entrance, people squeezing around it, and he saw what looked like a new apprentice in a thick apron trying to tell the driver how to pull around to the rear, less busy barn doors. The boy was gangly, skinny, and not very authoritative; the driver was arguing with him, the pair of horses were nickering and stepping impatiently in place, and the small carriage itself was jostling, the rear making groans that should come from no sound construction. Just as Will noticed the rear starboard wheel (“Right,” he muttered to himself, wondering when he'd switched to nautical directives as a matter of course) trembling and wobbling on the hub, a series of events snapped like dominoes:

The carriage door banged outward;

The horses tried to surge forward, brought up short by the surprised driver;

The wobbly wheel started to tilt even more outward at an alarming angle;

And a brief spray of bright fabric in the carriage doorway suggested feminine injuries were imminent.

Automatically, Will drew his sword and hunched, eying the toppling wheel just long enough to get an underhand two-fisted aim. He jammed the blade between two spokes, into the rear of the carriage body, and raised his left foot to kick hard on the loose axle nut. The wheel trembled … but it held.

For nearly a whole minute.

By that time, the apprentice had helped an older lady out of the carriage, fussing and frowning. He then offered the next occupant a hand down, but she hesitated. Looking around, she spotted Will just a few feet away. “Pete!” she cried, pushing something forward toward him. “Take Pete first!”

Will stretched out his arms and stepped forward as she presented something small and furry and emitting short bursts of hissing-

And then the carriage groaned, as weight and gravity became too much for Will's awkwardly-thrust blade. The sword clattered free as the nut popped loose, the wheel collapsed sideways with the back of the carriage, and everything seemed to land on top of Will as he was slammed to his back.

He blinked his eyes open, trying to breathe. The carriage itself was still mostly upright, owing to the quick thinking of a couple of burly fellows who'd caught the abandoned axle and was lowering it gently to the dirt street. What was crushing the breathing-necessary part of his abdomen was a young lady, who didn't appear terribly plump but might as well have weighed a ton from the way she was placed, peering down wide-eyed into his face. Will tried to ask her to move and heard only a wheeze, but she must've gotten the gist because she began scrambling off of him, looking alarmed. He had no idea what shade of red he must've turned, but he guessed it was a right doozy by the way people were gathering to look down at him.

When he could breathe again, he closed his eyes briefly to fill his lungs a few times, and then tried to sit up. A hiss from his chest stopped him, and he wondered if he were leaking … something. He opened his eyes only to meet two small, beady dark ones staring at him over a long snout. The thing's jaws could barely move, with the leather muzzle looped loosely around them, but they opened enough to express its displeasure.

“Likewise, I'm sure,” Will managed as he righted himself. The creature didn't move, its tiny claws hooked into the front of his shirt. That's when it occurred to him that they _hurt_. Gingerly, he brought his hands under its little arms and tried to dislodge it, but the claws sank in more. He frowned, about to either ask or yell for it to be peeled away, when the woman's voice was preceded by a sharp clap.

“Pete!” she commanded. “Get over here!”

The creature readily loosened its grip and turned to hop off of Will and bound the two or three feet to its mistress, who Will noticed was tethered to it by a slack leather leash. She leaned over a little to pick up the … thing, but it saved her the trouble by hooking its claws into her skirts and climbing partway.

“You need to stop encouraging that!” chided the older woman, gesturing at the girl's dress. “Going to tear up your whole wardrobe this time, it is.”

“Aunt Matilde ...” the girl began with the customary sigh of the put-upon. It was then that Will noticed she only looked to be about thirteen years old. “I can't fit into these forever, and Crissie already wore them. There's no third sister to pass them to, and all my cousins are boys.” She looked down. “It's not as though it's fine linens to begin with.”

“Well, it's certainly a fortunate thing, isn't it, missy?”

Once, he might've kept a polite silence. Now, Will cut in and gestured at the furry creature. “What is that?” he asked, looking between the two females.

“Pete!” The girl stroked the top of its head, and it made a low, agreeable chittering. “He's a mongoose. Rescued from an Indian sideshow by my sister's husband!” She rubbed his muzzle, frowning a bit wistfully. “He’s no cat … but he needed a home.”

“And the worst pet ever conceived for a proper young _lady_ ,” Matilde tacked on. She brushed off her skirt and gave Will more attention. “Forgive my niece's manners; it appears Josephine forgot the simple act of thanking her benefactor, in favor of … that animal.”

“Oh!” The girl turned more toward Will, wide-eyed, and gave a short curtsey, as much as she was able, holding the mongoose. “Do pardon me, sir. Thank you for catching Pete and … um, me.” She blushed, looking up through long eyelashes at him, and Will heroically held back a not-unkind laugh at her youthful discomfort. It occurred to him he'd seen this behavior on more than one girl-turning-woman, the most memorable of course being a much younger Elizabeth Swann.

“It's quite all-”

She interrupted, apparently spotting his earring. “Are you a sailor?” she asked, excitedly. “A pirate?”

“Josephine!” Matilde was shaking her head quickly. “You don't interrupt, especially your elders.”

The girl gathered Pete closer and appeared suitably chastised. _“Appeared” being the key word_ , Will mused, as she murmured, “I'm sorry.” In a record recovery, she then brightened and asked again, “So – are you?”

******

Flicking a speck of ash from his sleeve, Jack settled into the longboat and nodded at the _Black Pearl's_ cabin boy to begin rowing. He'd arranged to let Gibbs go ashore last night in exchange for staying for watch today and tonight, when he learned Will would be available today. But when the bugger had picked a fight over what he saw as unfair division of spoils (“Dammit, man, I am the captain, and I took the bloody dagger off that damned lieutenant! 'Tis mine, bejeweled or not – 's not part of the quartermaster's tally sheet!”) and then gotten himself in a snit over the simple truth (“Who are you to tell me what I can’t confiscate? You’re just the gunner”), Will had walked out.

_He can shove his criticism right up his ass_ , the captain thought, wishing he wasn't now thinking of Will Turner's high, compact, tight backside. It was a fair bet he wouldn't be getting his tar-stained hands on it again anytime quickly.

The trip to the dock was a short, quiet one, necessitated by where the _Pearl_ had been forced to anchor out in the bay. Seemed everyone was in Tortuga this week, and nearly all of them had beaten Captain Jack Sparrow to dry land. He alighted from the longboat and took a moment to look around and artfully sway, getting his bearings and getting used to the earth after two uninterrupted months at sea. He flipped his boy half a shilling and forestalled the youth's shining eyes with a warning before shooing him away: “Do not spend it all on one item, Muddy. There'll be no pleasures for later if you do. Remember that. And stick close to the docks around midnight or so, waiting.”

He set off into the town, weaving around the maze of buildings and more haphazard structures, greeting the occasional friend and ducking the even more occasional enemy or spurned lover. He could often depend on a running conversation with Will to distract him from having to deal with such unpleasantries, or at least Will's dedicated ear while he spun tales and imparted wisdom about the people and establishments they were ambling past; today, he had to manufacture his own distractions.

Pausing a block from the corner near the blacksmith's, he noticed a crowd gathered. Normally this would've been ripe for some pocket-cleaning, but he spotted an old foe at the edge of those gathered and decided avoidance wasn't shameful in the least. Besides, Jack was the reason Purple Pecker Petrucci had gotten his nickname, and he'd managed to avoid his (perhaps deserved) retribution all these years. Doubling back, he slipped into a side alley, quite dark even in the brightness of the day, made cool by the three-story buildings towering on either side. Jack negotiated the labyrinth of such alleys, thinking of strong rum at the Faithful Bride.

So much, in fact, that he was halfway down yet another alley before he realized he was being followed. Slowing his gait, Jack drew his fingers up along the stock of his pistol, drumming them on the wood as he casually stepped sideways and around, keeping a wall at his back and looking behind. A trio of dark figures were moving stealthily, nearly blending into the shadows, only the occasional glint of what he presumed was an exposed blade winking off the thin line of sun directly overhead. Jack resumed his walk, but the light at the other end of the alley was blocked by two more figures – and they didn't bother to sneak.

Sideways, Jack glanced at the duo, then over to the first three. “To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?” he announced loudly. He was certain nobody would come to his aid even if they could hear him, but these blokes didn't necessarily know that. “If that is, in fact, what you are, rather than a gaggle of damsels … or eunuchs.” They said nothing, only drawing closer, and Jack pulled the flintlock from his sash, holding it tilted up. “You do know, a man could take all this silence th' wrong way.”

At least now the figures were stationary. “Names, please,” Jack insisted. “Or are you figments of me own imagination?”

The acute hearing that had made Jack an excellent shot heard the scrape of metal, and he pivoted to face his right with the gun still tilted up – just in time. Something shiny and fast struck low on the barrel and pinged off. Quickly, he knelt and scooped it up, nearly cursing at the razor-sharp slice along one of his fingertips. Grasping it in his left hand, he cocked the pistol and sprang from the crouch toward the two figures, using surprise and momentum to drive into and past them, breaking into a patch of sunlight beyond the alley and skittering into a sideways turn. He only paused running a block away to turn and look back – to his surprise, they had fled into the open and were coming at him, dressed in simple short, loose robes over breeches, all in black , faces half-covered.

“Bastard buggering foolhardy hell!” Jack growled, torn between picking the fastest to shoot and fleeing – and opting to save his bullet for later and his goods for now. “Ninjas!”

*****

In exchange for a handful of needed tools, Will had agreed to take young Miss Josephine (“My friends call me Jo!”) Salingua and her aunt, the widowed Mrs. O’Dell (“He is not your friend, he is an elder, and you will address him as Mr. Turner, _Josephine_ , not his Christian name”), off of the blacksmith's hands for lunch and through the market while the smith repaired the carriage wheel and worked with the farrier on the sweaty, dangerous job of reshoeing the horses.

Halfway through lunchtime tea Will began to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off letting the horses take turns kicking him in the side instead. His soup had been cold, the bowl awfully small, and the mongoose had spent half the meal trying to perch in his lap to get at his food. It no longer hissed at Will, but its tiny sharp claws seized slowly into his skin every time it tried to get a footing. To make matters more awkward, when he mentioned the _Black Pearl_ , neither had heard of Will Turner, though they had both heard tales of the legendary Captain Jack ( _Who'd be swinging for the buzzards if not for Will Turner_ , Will Turner considered, feeling only a little guilty for begrudging Jack the entirety of his continent-sized reputation) fighting skeletons and rescuing beautiful ladies of high birth ( _When forced into it by Will Turner_ , Will Turner silently appended).

Upon leaving the one respectable tavern Tortuga could boast, Pete decided he wanted a change of ride. He scrambled to Will's back, hopped up to get his claws into the swinging coat, and scurried up to perch on Will's shoulder. Jo laughed, and even Matilde cracked a smile as the mongoose began to poke its muzzle into Will's ear – right before slithering up to sit on his head.

Just at that moment, a raucous outburst drew everyone's attention to the street (and fortunately, Pete had the sense to grasp hair instead of scalp). A figure was just disappearing around the corner – Will swore he recognized the hat, but he could've just been imagining better company than the weasel in his hair – with several mysterious black-clad figures tearing to catch up with it.

Jo was on her toes, trying to get a better look. “Were those ninjas?”

*****

Jack gratefully took the rum from Sophia, as well as her attention as she slid onto the bench beside him, her ample bosom and skirts effectively hiding him (well, mostly) from the entrance to The Captain's Whore'n. “They come in yet?” he muttered.

She primped and smiled, glancing sidelong toward the door. “Doesn't 'pear so,” she advised.

“I know they saw me come in here. They've chased me out of three fine establishments so far; they'll be looking in any moment.” He scowled, not even in the mood to enjoy his rum. “What I want to know is, who hired those bilge rats to light out after me?”

“Well, you _are_ Captain Jack Sparrow,” Sophia pointed out. “There's a fine reward on that matted head o' yours.” She fondly stroked the dreadlocks in question. “Not everybody's as reasonable as I am.”

Digging into his pocket, Jack produced another half-shilling. “Aye, nor as modest,” he observed dryly. “You just keep a sharp eye, an' I'll make sure there's a bit more before I take me leave.”

“Seems a shame to be payin' for nothing, really.” She pressed her leg against his and tickled his ear with her fingertips. “Seems you could hide out better in my boudoir up th' stairs, Jack ...”

_Yes, that did make more sense, by Jove ..._ He blinked and shook his head. “'Fraid not,” he shook his head sadly. “It gets around I was up there with a lovely such as yourself … ah, _hiding_ , I might find myself without certain essential parts not long after.”

She giggled. “How is the disapproving blacksmith?” He only rolled his eyes toward her. “ _Where_ is the disapproving blacksmith?” He drank, and she withdrew her hand from his ear, crossing her arms in a frosty gesture.

When he glanced over, she was staring levelly at him. “What?” he asked, confused.

“What did you do?”

******

The mongoose on his shoulder had become swift second nature to Will. He observed now that it was not being tossed about and had been fed, it didn't hiss at everyone – often – and he began to study harder those people who set Pete off. None seemed particularly savory, even in a town filled with dark, dangerous types. It seemed the two ladies – and now he, briefly – had their own moral barometer, of sorts.

They'd checked on the carriage and in the short time remaining for repairs, Will had promised to continue escorting the woman and girl through the market for fabrics. They were lifting and selecting and discussing when Will felt something land over his right arm, sending Pete scrambling for the left shoulder. “What-” he began.

“Do excuse me, Mr. Turner,” Matilde tsked as she arranged a fall of pink silk over his shoulder. “Just for a moment – wanted to stretch this out to measure off a length.”

He eyed it, but said nothing. It wasn't long before the girl had appropriated his left arm and shoulder for blue ribbon, sending Pete crankily into Will's hair. He sighed, but decided the tongs and tools he needed were worth it. _Really, it isn't as though anyone will remember who I am anyway_ , he thought glumly.

It was while the two were discussing something or other behind his back, making him turn ninety degrees as on the swivel of a dressmaker's dummy, the feminine fabrics still swathing his sleeves, the mongoose perched and swaying slightly on top of his head, that he felt the brunt of the hunched old woman as she bumped into his chest. He kept his balance and held his tongue out of manners – until she looked up. She was wrapped in dark, dull gray, a hood of black scarves, with one pulled across her lower face.

Will squinted into the raccoon-like eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Jack?” They opened wider at being recognized, and he furrowed his brow. “Jack!” he hissed. “What the hell?”

“Castoffs from the whorehouse,” the pirate whispered, flapping the material bundling him like a Russian grandmother. “This is what happens when th' girls don't do so well dying their unmention-”

Will closed his eyes. “Not _that_.” He opened them again and got another good look. “Well – that, as well.”

But now Jack was getting an eyeful of Will clouded in silk and froth as well as hairy and fair creatures. “Been shopping?” he observed dryly.

Will lowered his eyes pointedly at Jack's dreary wrappings. “At least I have a better eye for what goes with my coloring.” He compressed his lips as it occurred to him this wasn't normal, even for Jack Sparrow. “What's happened?”

The pirate captain brought out something from under his cloak. “Nearly had me head taken off with this,” he explained, holding up the multi-pointed weapon.

“What is it?” Will took it gingerly, inspecting it.

“Throwing star.” He paused dramatically, then whispered, “Ninjas are after me, William!”

“I'm sorry – what are 'ninjas?'”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Only the deadliest assassins the Far East has ever produced. Natural enemy of craftier pirates. Cat-witted blokes all done up in black robes an' such.”

Will hefted the star, mindful of the razor-sided blades. “Seems a bit off-center,” he mused. “I'll wager I could reshape it a bit, balance it better from the center.”

Jack hissed something best not repeated, snatching the star back. “Don't _help_ them.” He grimaced visibly as he transferred the weapon more carefully to his other hand and sucked at the blood welling from an injured fingertip.

“So … wait.” Will made a point of sweeping his eyes over Jack again. “The great and legendary Captain Jack Sparrow is _hiding_ from a challenge?”

Jack nearly clawed at the air between them, gesturing for Will to shut it. “Everybody doesn't need t' know me business,” he hissed, sotto voce. “It's not hiding; it's a strategic retreat. And it's how I've lived long enough for there to _be_ stories of the legendary still-breathing Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Meaning, it's how you've managed to survive to run your mouth instead of actually doing all that fighting extemporized in said stories.”

“One would think you're not being draped up like a palace eunuch by the harem,” Jack pointedly retaliated, glancing at the two females still checking something now flowing down Will's back. “Ah, sunshine yellow. Now there's a color for your eyes, Mr. Turner.” Will winced, and Jack's gaze pointedly floated heavenward. “What is that beast what looks like it's about to shit in your hair?”

“WHAT?” Will rolled his eyes up and reached up for Pete, sending the material on his sleeves backwards and earning him mild chastisement from Jo and Matilde. He heard Jack laughing behind the makeshift veil and scowled, bringing Pete down in his arms. “Well, if that's all you have to impart, I suppose the harem and the _gunner_ should get back to marketing – and leave you to your self-defense.”

Jack's eyes flashed brief panic. “I've been in four taverns and not spotted a _Pearl's_ crewman in any. Bloody lot are likely sleeping off whatever, wherever.”

“With whoever,” Will observed, feeling less truculent as he stroked Pete's head.

“Precisely.” He lowered the veil just enough to make a little pout at Will. “I was rather hoping you might be inclined to help preserve my corpus, seeing as you've a partial interest in its continued … corpusosity.”

Will thought that over as Jack offered his hand to Pete's snout, letting the creature sniff him before reaching up and scratching between his shoulders. “Jack, I would be more than happy to get involved, but I promised I'd help these ladies until their carriage is repaired. I can't go back on my word.”

Matilde pushed in front of Will a generous armful of shiny green fabric. “Mr. Turner, I wonder if you might be able to remove your coat so we could get this around you, see how it might look as a ball gown skirt? Maybe with some ribbons?”

*****

The five stealthy figures kept to the shadows as the pirate stepped into the alley. Finally! Their quarry was once again out in the open – so to speak. They crept along the two buildings toward him, closing the distance, mindful of their orders and the honor of being able to claim the life of such a notorious figure as Sparrow. He was moving slowly, obviously cautious, the silhouette of his distinctive leather tricorn bobbing slightly as he walked. He seemed to be carrying something in his left arm, which delighted the ninjas – all the easier to overwhelm the captain even in a frontal assault.

As the assassins closed the distance, preparing themselves for their attack, the pirate drew his sword and gently dumped his left-handed bundle to the ground. “You gents in here?” he called, sounding odd, compared with that morning. “Come out where I can see you ...”

The black-suited figures, their vision well suited to even nighttime, managed to catch each other's eye and at their leader's slight nod, they sprang into the center of the alley and assumed fighting stances.

Sparrow reached up and withdrew something from the brim of his hat. “Have something I need to ...” he began – and then his wrist flicked and one ninja collapsed, clutching at the shiny star lodged in the side of his throat. “Return,” the pirate finished, reaching up to whip off his hat.

This was clearly not the man they had been sent to kill. Breaking silence, one of the subordinate ninjas demanded, “Where is Sparrow? Flown the coop?” The others, in solidarity, guffawed.

“Worry about your own wings, men.” The lone man shifted just enough for the overhead shaft of sunlight to catch his sharp jawline and flaring nostrils – and the fact the “bundle” was moving, tugging at what looked like a long tether. “We're here to clip them.”

*****

“Now see, that is the _exact_ shade of frock Miss Swann was wearing when I was nearly hanged at Fort Charles,” Jack declared, squinting at the buttercream fabric Jo was beginning to finger with great interest. “Right before she stood between her father and all the King's navy to declare her devotion for yours truly.”

“Really?” The girl's eyes were wide as saucers, bright with burgeoning dreams.

“Oh, aye.” Jack nodded, looking to her aunt to confirm it. The older woman seemed amused, if unmoved. “Right delectable lass, she were … and knew how to wave a weapon, to boot!”

“A woman! With a sword?” Jo was firmly entranced now, and Jack saw no reason to correct her assumption. “And was Wi- I mean, Mr. Turner, there, too?” She glanced at her chaperone, who nodded approval at something the girl had said.

“Oh, of course he was there,” Jack examined his fingernails and rings studiously. “He was mooning over the girl, of course. Poor, misguided lad.” He remembered his fight with said poor lad earlier that day, and in a combination of worry that Will just might not return from his ninja fight and some belated contrition, added, “I do confess he was quite handy with a sword himself, getting my neck out of that noose.”

*****

Four dispatched corpses littered the center of the alley, sprawled ungainly as Will set the edge of his bloodied sword to the back of the lone surviving ninja's neck. The man didn't quaver or flinch; Will had to admire his style, if not his loyalty or aims. “Who sent you?” he asked again, not expecting an answer. He wasn't disappointed.

Pete's hissing caught his attention, and he tightened his grip on the leash, his right hand unwavering with the sword. The mongoose had delightedly torn into Will's attackers, landing nearly as many good blows as Will himself, with unmuzzled teeth and razor claws to the shins, distracting a couple long enough for his temporary master to maneuver himself into a superior position over them. Now the animal was cleaning its dirty feet between occasional chittering, seeming the happiest it had been all day.

After several attempts to extract a name, Will removed his blade and poked the ninja in the shoulder. “Up,” he ordered, stepping back to hold the sword in a defensive posture as the man rose. “I'm going to let you go,” he explained. “Not to show any great mercy – but to make whoever sent you understand that I can stop as many as they want to send after Captain Sparrow. It would be wise if he – or she – did not test me a second time.”

That got the fellow's attention. Will guessed he was the young talker from before, because his broken accent sounded much the same as he spat, “And who are _you_?”

_Aha, not amusement this time_ , Will noted with satisfaction. He straightened his shoulders, remembering Jack's parting advice: _Men of vision often devastate more with wit than a direct hit._ “I am Will Turner,” he answered. “And if there's a next time – you won’t walk away from that.”

*****

“Hmm, leaves something to be desired, doesn’t it?” Jack drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I mean – ‘You won’t walk away from that?’ It’s just kind of plain.”

“Well, what would you have said?” Will demanded, before shoveling in another bite of stew.

Jack stuck his forefinger in the air and took in a deep breath, enunciating loudly. “This is the day you will always-”

“That’s _your_ line,” Will rebutted. “As if I’d want to steal that.”

“You’re a pirate, man! That’s what we DO.”

At his loud proclamation of “pirate,” several dark-clad figures stepped out of a dark corner across the room. As they were to the side of Jack and Will facing one another over the conciliatory supper the captain had purchased, both men caught the mass movement in their periphery and slowly swiveled their heads to look.

“Mohwre?” Will mumbled, incredulous, the stew nearly sliding out of his full mouth and onto his chest. “But I-”

“There’s always more,” Jack grumbled, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “Can kill five, seven’ll show up. Ninjas are like th’ pox – once you got it, only death or a worse pox runs it off.”

“That’s … disgusting.” Will pushed his stew away, making a face.

“Aye, but a memorable phrase.” Jack half-rose, tension coiling; Will straightened and pulled his sword in one hand, his left loosening slack on the leash of his new pet. Pete, who had been dozing beneath the table after his own small dish of stew, came to attention with a gentle tug and slithered up on Will’s vacated stool, quivering with renewed energy. “Still don’t know why you took that beast.”

“Because Aunt Matilde said the blood on his fur didn’t really go with any of her niece’s dresses.” Will pointed out again. “He’ll keep rats and snakes from cargo away from the crew.” He glanced down at Pete. “He likes me.” As their new foes advanced, the mongoose bared its teeth, hissing loudly. “And, he’s good at keeping ninjas busy; wait ‘til you see what happens when he runs up inside those loose breeches …”


End file.
